


Unrequited

by 30xf



Series: 201 Days Of X Files [88]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 19:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30xf/pseuds/30xf





	Unrequited

"What was all that commotion at the National Mall the other day? Were you there?" my mother asks, conversationally.

I shift the phone from one ear to the other, so I can pour myself a glass of wine. "You just assume that when there's a commotion in Washington, Mulder and I must be involved?" I ask, letting the sink fill with soapy water so I can wash the dishes that have been sitting on my counter for a week. I haven't been out of town, just tired.

"Well," she sighs, "I didn't mention Fox, and I was just asking. I know my baby girl, and commotions have always tended to find you." I can hear a smirk in her voice, but I know she's asking out of concern. If it were up to her, I'd be in a hospital bed for the rest of my life. It hasn't been long since my cancer diagnosis, but these well-being calls are already starting to wear on me.

I load the dishes into the sink, watching them disappear under the lemon-scented bubbles, trying to decide if I should answer honestly or not. I've always told my mother about my work with sparse details. I figure the less she knows, the less she has to worry. All in all, the 'commotion' on the Mall was more easily explainable and less life-threatening than the usual 'commotions' Mulder and I get into. But still, I answer simply, "We were there, yes. It's kind of a long story about exactly what happened, but it's done now." In truth, I couldn't remember exactly what details had been released to the media, nor what facts they had changed to make it more palatable to the country at large. I know Nathaniel Teager's name never came up, and that was the one thing that stands out the most for me. 

I take another sip of wine as I lean against the counter and listen to my mother's voice coming through the phone. "I'm glad you're both okay. Enough about work though, what do you want to do for your birthday, honey?"

I had been hoping she'd forget, but I knew she wouldn't. Maybe it was the cancer, but I wasn't feeling particularly celebratory about my birthday. I know I should be. I should be grateful for this birthday, because it very well might be my last. But something about that fact just seems to take the joy out of just about everything. "I don't know, mom," is all I can think to say. I sigh involuntarily, but manage to direct the phone away from my mouth so she doesn't hear it.

"Okay, well you think about it. We've still got another week." I can hear the disappointment in her voice, and I wish I could muster up some excitement, but I can't manage it. My third glass of wine had dragged my mood down and the fourth isn't helping that at all. "What are you up to now?"

"Just washing some dishes," I answer absently as I turn back to the sink. Leaning my forearms on the counter, I drag my finger through the bubbles. 

"Did you eat?" she asks. 

"Yup," I lie. I could have argued that a bottle of wine counted as a meal with my dad; my mother wouldn't go for it.

I feel I should say something more, try to start another line of conversation, but I can't think of anything. My eyelids are getting heavy and I'm starting to think the dishes can wait till the morning. "Well, I guess I better let you get back to your dishes," she says. 

"Okay, I'll call you tomorrow night," I promise out of guilt, hoping I'm a little more conversational then.

"Alright sweetheart, talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye mom. Love you."

"I love you too, honey." There's a click, and she's gone. I feel terrible for being relieved.

I'm about to set the phone down when it rings again. I down the rest of my glass of wine before answering, "Mom?"

"I'd have to grow my hair out a little, but I think she'd still look better in a dress," Mulder's voice comes to my ear, just as comforting as my mother's had been, but requiring much less emotional effort from me.

I let out a breath through my nose that passes as a laugh. "Did you just compliment my mother's looks?"

"Do you know when the last time I went on a date was, Scully? I could certainly do worse than your mother."

The rational part of my brain tells me to avoid this line of conversation, but the four glasses of wine want to know where it will go from here. "I could get her number for you."

"Joke's on you, Scully! I already have it," he chuckles, proud of himself.

"Are you drunk, Mulder?" I ask, tucking the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can boost myself up to sit on the counter. "It usually takes way longer or requires much less sleep for our conversations to get this weird."

"I don't believe our conversations have ever gotten this particular brand of weird, actually. And no, to answer your question, I'm not drunk. Are you?"

"Sure am," I tell him honestly. He could probably tell already anyways. I've had years of practicing hiding it from my mother, but I haven't tried hiding it from Mulder much. I don't know if it would even be worth trying.

"Excellent. I'm out front, and I'm coming up. I brought pizza, beer, and a movie." Before I can protest or agree, he's gone. 

I hang up the phone and jump down off the counter. Looking around, I'm glad I took the time to tidy up the apartment before I opened the first bottle of wine. I look at the sink and sigh. Maybe Mulder will help me with the dishes later.


End file.
